Rise of the Red Harbinger (29 page)

Another strong gust of wind came. Baltaszar held his hand in place, unsure of whether the gale would affect it. The wind blew the fireball down onto Baltaszar’s hand. For some reason, the shock of the burn was not as great as the shock that he could be hurt by his own fire. However, the agony of burning flesh obliterated all focus and Baltaszar shook his hand violently. The flame had caught the edge of his sleeve and Baltaszar quickly clapped his arm to extinguish it. He slapped and slapped at his hand and sleeve until finally the flame died out and his right hand was a charred mess of red and black.

Despite the pain, Baltaszar was confused as to why Horatio and the merchant hadn’t rushed over to help him. He looked up to find an answer and understood why. The top of the wagon cover had caught fire and the other two were pulling it off before it could spread to the wooden frame.
It must have been when I was flailing my arm. I must have thrown the flame somehow
. He ran back to the wagon and did his best to help with one hand. After a few seconds, they’d managed to rip the wagon cover from the frame and threw it onto the dirt road.

“I’m so sorry! I panicked when my hand caught fire!” He clutched his wrist tightly, hoping to stop his burnt hand from bleeding.

Horatio simply stared at Baltaszar’s hand while the merchant gazed in agony at the bare wagon.

The merchant was a squat man with a grizzly face and short black hair, which he was rubbing back and forth vigorously. Baltaszar had no idea whether the man had heard his words, so he attempted to console him. “I’ll repay you, somehow. I promise!” Another horse-drawn wagon strode by, the merchants craning their necks at the spectacle. “Just give me some time to find the money, sir. I swear by the Orijin I’ll fix the wagon for you.” A sense of panic and guilt interloped Baltaszar’s mind, combined with the roaring of uncomfortable memories. He realized now, this type of thing had happened before.

The merchant finally spoke, reluctantly. “S’all right boy. Yer here as a favor ta Cyrus. An’ I owe him more on top o’ that. Once I get back ta Vandenar, I’ll let him know that we’re even. Save yer worries fer the road ahead. That wagon cover was more fer yer protection than my wine. Them King’s soldiers are goin’ ta have a real easy time o’ seein ya now. We’ll travel til dusk an’ then stop fer the night. Tomorrow, ya both will have ta hide under them covers I got back there when we get closer ta Khiry. Even then, there’s a good chance they’ll find ya. Understood?”

Horatio cut in, “Why don’t we just arrive during the night time. If it’s dark, it’ll be easier for us to hide.

“People have tried it, boy. Them soldiers don’t care fer it much. Merchants an’ travelers know not ta go by night because it just makes the soldiers angry. During the day, they’ll give the wagons a regular inspection. But durin’ the night, they go an’ rip everythin’ apart since they can’t see so well. They don’t care if they break yer goods in the process. I got no problems with ya boys, but I’m not willin’ ta lose all my wine over ya.”

Horatio nodded, but Ika’s words had barely made it into Baltaszar’s ears. A revelation had formed in his mind as a result of the wagon.
Fallar Bain. Harold and Carys Joben. Lea Joben. The fires were all my fault. I burned down his shop. Carys’ kitchen. I did all that. And my father took the fall. He died because of what I could do. Did he know it was me? Was he protecting me?

You already know the answers to these questions.

But why? Why would he protect me? Why would he give up his life for mine if I was so dangerous? Wouldn’t it have been easier to let me die instead?

You know these answers as well.

I’m not asking for answers. I’m angry that he made the choices he did. He should have let me take the responsibility.

Perhaps now you will see that you were meant for a higher purpose and understand the folly of wishing to be dead. Consider the fleeting feeling of confidence and fulfillment when you created the fire before. Continue with your journey. You have many questions. They have many answers where you are going.

I will listen to you. This once.

Baltaszar had been so confused that he’d even forgotten his disdain for the voice in his head. But it was right. And Slade had been right about everything thus far. It would be stupid to not go. The worst thing that would happen would be that the House of Darian would have no answers for him. But at least he’d be around others like him.

Baltaszar had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized he was once again sitting in the back of the wagon, across from Horatio, and they were moving again. Even his right hand had been bandaged, although blood had stained it almost entirely red.

“What is it?” Horatio asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on a barrel of wine. “You definitely realized something back there. Something big. Even bigger than being able to create fire. What happened, Baltaszar?”

Baltaszar hesitated. It was a humungous step to trust anyone else at this point. But Horatio was the first person he’d met who was like him. Horatio, with the black line down his left eye, was living proof that there was purpose in Baltaszar’s life. They had the same goals, the same destination. This was the ideal situation in which to start trusting other people. “Remember how you asked me if there had been anything miraculous in my life to this point?”

Horatio nodded vigorously, “Yes. Yes, of course I do. And then you couldn’t think of anything and I suddenly thought, well ‘maybe it wasn’t a miraculous thing for him, because these manifestations can have their bad sides as well’, and so that’s when I asked you…”

“You asked me about the opposite. If there was any connections between negative parts in my life.” Baltaszar had to cut the boy off, otherwise Horatio would have kept talking and the conversation would likely turn to some arbitrary topic. “The fire. It…it’s caused more trouble in my life than I realized.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fires are the reason my father is dead. Everyone in Haedon blamed him for them and he took the fall instead of letting me answer for it. I should have died for everything that happened, but instead, he was killed for it. They publicly hanged him, Horatio. And…oh by the Light of Orijin. That was me as well.” Tears streamed down Baltaszar’s cheeks.

“What? What was you, Baltaszar?”

Baltaszar gulped back the lump in his throat. “As he was being hanged, a fire broke out on the hanging platform. It was pouring that night, Horatio. That fire had no business being there. I caused it. I scorched his body while he was being humiliated before all of Haedon. I still remember it so vividly. He was hanging there then the fire engulfed him. He flailed around like a madman. I only burned my hand and it was an unconceivable agony. How much did he suffer, just because of me?”

Horatio opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated and said, “I’m sorry Baltaszar, I’m terribly sorry. You couldn’t have known how to handle it. Nobody had taught you.”

Baltaszar had grown tired of talking. He hoped Horatio wasn’t offended, but there were too many thoughts weighing him down for Baltaszar to be sociable. He spent the several remaining daylight hours staring off into nowhere in particular. When dusk had arrived, he went through the motions of helping them set up a fire, though he did not use his manifestation. Once Horatio and the merchant had set themselves down in front of it, Baltaszar returned to the wagon and lay down on the floor of the cart. He had no idea how long he tried to fall asleep, but when he finally did, fire and blood filled his dreams.

***

Baltaszar woke up to find that the wagon was already rolling and slightly bouncing along the road. Horatio sat in his usual spot.

“I left out some bread and cheese for you. We thought it best not to wake you, I hope you don’t mind. Just seems like you’ve been through too much in the past week or so. Thought you could use a sound sleep.” Horatio smiled uncomfortably at him, likely unsure of whether Baltaszar would be angry.

“Thank you! I’m starving, thanks for saving me food. That was very considerate of you. I feel like it’s easier to be asleep; that way I don’t have to deal with all of this guilt and regret.” Horatio handed him half a loaf of bread and a small block of yellow cheese. Baltaszar didn’t worry about manners as he gnashed a chunk of bread from the loaf.

“Baltaszar, I understand why you might feel guilty. But that’s a father’s responsibility. To protect his children and make sure that they’re safe, even if it costs his own well-being. Believe me, if anyone understands that, it’s me. I only wish I had a father who was willing to raise me and show me the right way. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten this manifestation, but I would trade lightning for a good father any day.”

“Maybe you’re right. But honestly, Horatio, you won’t change how I feel right now. I’m too angry with myself to think that way. Part of me wants to go back to Haedon and burn it all to ashes.”

“You do that and you’re no better than the people who killed your father. Let the Orijin determine the proper justice for them. Their souls will spend the rest of eternity in Opprobrium. That’s the way I live, Baltaszar. Let justice happen naturally.”

Opprobrium. Baltaszar’s father had taught him about the Three Rings. The three destinations of the afterlife. Baltaszar had never given it much consideration until now. Being a farmer with a daily routine, there was never much conflict or need for deep reflection on where one’s soul would end up.

According to his father, good people went to Omneitria. Bad people went to Opprobrium. And those who did nothing with their lives…who lived off the hard work of others, who did nothing productive, and who feigned devotion to the Orijin while ignoring him…they were destined for Oblivion.

Baltaszar had always loved the symbolism and aesthetic nature of the Three Rings and the fact that their names all began with “O”. To him, it was a small piece of evidence that there was a higher power. That life itself wasn’t accidental. But that was generally the extent of his devotion to religion. “I’m starting to believe that I am destined for Oblivion anyway. Getting revenge wouldn’t change that and at least it would give me satisfaction.” Horatio was about to respond, but Baltaszar held a hand up to stop him. “I don’t really want to talk about this any further. Can we just sit in silence for a little while?”

Horatio nodded in acquiescence and Baltaszar continued eating. The ride paralleled that of the previous day, as Baltaszar sat in a sort of daze, allowing all sorts of thoughts to fly around in his mind while not focusing on any specific one. The weather was noticeably warmer than that of Haedon, though Haedonian summers were never unbearable. The winds hadn’t died down much since the day before, which forced Baltaszar to keep his hood down, much to his chagrin. The hood brought him much comfort.

As the day wore on, traffic on the Way of Sunsets increased. Baltaszar assumed they were getting very close to Khiry, a town that supposedly boasted a great selection of wines and foods from all of Ashur. They had traveled for half a day sitting in silence.

The sun had reached its pinnacle in the hours after noon and not a single cloud dotted the sky. “Find cover now! Behind the barrels an’ under the blankets! Lay flat an’ do not move!” Varan Ika barked from his seat up front. The soldiers must have been nearer than Baltaszar realized. He and Horatio lay on their backs, on the floor of the cart, the barrels of wine blocking them from anyone looking from the back of the wagon. They covered themselves with a few thick wool sheets. With any luck, the King’s inspectors would not suspect anything was beneath the blankets. Only now did Baltaszar realize what a grand and stupid risk they were taking.

Horatio whispered, “Remember what I told you? Clear your mind. Be ready for anything. If they find us, they’ll attack. Which means we have to attack first.”

“Understood,” Baltaszar whispered back. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on just the darkness. The merchant must have been acting overcautiously, because they’d ridden for quite a while without anything happening.

The wagon slowed to a halt. Baltaszar heard an imperative voice at the side of the wagon. “Name and destination?”

“My name is Varan Ika.”

“I’m travelin’ ta Khiry. Make a run every month or so ta trade my wine. I’m sure ya seen me before. Ya look kind o’ familiar. Er..Sir.”

“I do not recognize you. Trade it for what?”

The soldier had a strange, formal sounding accent. Baltaszar wondered if it was a common way of speaking.

“Tween me an’ you, I trade it fer beef. Don’t really fancy the elephant an’ that’s all they got in Vandenar.”

The soldier’s tone didn’t lighten up, despite Varan trying to be friendly. “You said there is wine in every barrel? All nine of them?”

“All nine sir.”

“I am curious. What happened to your wagon cover? This cart is definitely equipped for one and has the proper clasps and hooks to support a cover.”

“Ripped before I left town,” Varan said with a nervous chuckle. “Didn’t have time ta patch it up. Figured the weather’s warm enough anyway.”

“I see. And what is beneath the blankets?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just more blankets an’ a couple pillows.”

The soldier climbed onto the wagon cart. Baltaszar heard him jostling a few of the barrels, likely listening for liquid. Baltaszar dared not move. The soldier stopped inspecting the barrels and Baltaszar heard the clomping of his boots come nearer.